


Karma

by Khaleesi_92



Category: Irish Actor RPF
Genre: Apologies, Betrayal, Emotional Hurt, F/M, One Shot, Reality, Slight Violence, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 16:10:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1989327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khaleesi_92/pseuds/Khaleesi_92
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael Fassbender reflects on his biggest mistake while in New York in his hotel room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Karma

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys! So, this is not a happy ending, fluffy fic (if you're looking for that, check out my Loki fan fiction!). This is something that I wrote based on my own experiences (though writing from the other side of the coin this time) basically personified in Michael Fassbender. The man comes off as a bad boy but I would like to believe he has a heart and therefore reflects on his mistakes. However, this is real life and reality is not a fairy tale. As the Stones say: you can't always get what you want.
> 
> I do not own or have any affiliation to Michael Fassbender, nor do I claim to. This is a work of pure fiction. Leave a kudos or a comment if you like the story! Questions, comments or concerns- feel free to contact me.

Night had fallen but the lights and sounds of the city ensured that he would not sleep. He hated those nights. It gave him too much time to think. Too much time to think about _her_. He lit a cigarette and leaned against the balcony railing, eyes scanning over the streets still bustling with people and cars. It had to be something like two o'clock in the morning. Bloody vampires, he thought, a whole city of people that couldn't sleep. Just like him.  
His mind wandered back to home. Oh, how he missed it some days. His cozy apartment, a fire crackling pleasantly when he came home and she would be there with a lovely dinner ready for him. Her brown eyes would sparkle when he walked into a room and her smile was so beautiful, he bet that even a blind man would be able to see it.  
His heart wrenched as he remembered those same eyes with tears spilling from them onto her cheeks, her chest heaving with the sobs of heartbreak when she'd found him out.  
"Bloody wanker," he said under his breath and took a long draw from his cigarette.  
He closed his eyes as he exhaled the smoke through his nose. He hated these nights. He would sit and think and the memories would flood his mind like a tidal wave. One after the other, a constant rerun of his mistakes. The greatest hits of an arsehole. With a frustrated sigh, he flicked the last of the cigarette over the balcony and stomped inside, heading straight for the scotch in his hotel room. He poured a glass messily and shot it down, hissing at the burn as it ran down his throat. He poured another one and glanced towards the half closed door of the bedroom. He rolled his eyes and headed back out to the balcony. He sat down and took a sip of his scotch, the temptation to call her strong and insistent. He pushed it back down as he remembered all the trouble he had caused her with the stupid device. Secrets and lies had plagued her for months and this little phone had finally unleashed the truth on her. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as he sighed. He picked up the phone from inside of his bathrobe and scrolled through his contacts. Even just looking at her name sent a shooting pain through his heart. He knew she'd be awake now. He could picture her in her office, typing away on her computer, that cute little headset on as she chatted away to clients. He hit call before he could change his mind. Straight to voicemail.  
"Probably a good thing," he muttered and downed the scotch.  
"Michael... Come back to bed."  
He winced at her American drawl. He had been so focused on _her_ that he had been expecting her soft English voice. His English Rose. He looked at the woman standing in the doorway and smiled slightly.  
"I don't think so, love. There's some cash on the table for a taxi," he lit another cigarette and turned away from her. "You'd best get on."  
He heard a huff of breath, angry footsteps and a lot of rustling before the door slammed. He leaned forward a bit to check if the money was gone and chuckled when he saw that it was. Naturally. His English Rose wouldn't have done it. She would have left the money on the table as well as a slap to the face. He knew that sting all too well. 

 

His phone lay on the coffee table, she sat in her favourite chair, still in the pyjamas he had seen her in that morning. Her hair was a mess and her eyes were red and puffy. He glanced at the phone, then back to her face, dropping his bag on the floor.  
"Darling?"  
She looked up at him, daggers flying from her brown eyes.  
"Don't you 'darling' me!" She hissed and pointed at his phone. "You forgot your phone this morning. Who is Holly? And Hayley? What about Brooke?"  
His jaw tightened in anger, "You went through my phone?"  
She clenched her hands into fists, "You got a text from one of these girls. It doesn't matter. You've been strange for months! You went to America, you were gone for eight weeks and when you came back you weren't the Michael I fell in love with."  
"You went through my phone," he repeated and stepped forward. "You violated my privacy."  
She stood up abruptly and shoved him hard against the door, "You cheating, lying bastard! How many women? How many have you been with while you've been with me?"  
He stood, glaring at her. His back smarted a little from the contact with the hard surface but her small frame wouldn't do too much damage.  
"Don't ask that," he whispered. "Don't ask that question."  
Her face crumpled as her anger faded into shock. She stepped away from him, her hand at her heart. Her voice cracked as she whispered the question again.  
"How many, Michael?"  
He looked at her and sighed deeply, "I don't know."  
She gave a strangled cry and turned her back, heading straight into the bedroom.  
"Darling, I'm sorry. They started out as something stupid and I couldn't stop. I was away from you for so long... Months at a time."  
He wanted to punch himself in the face as soon as the words left his mouth. What was he doing? Why was he saying these things? He stood in the doorway of their bedroom and watched as she threw clothing into a suitcase.  
"I never cheated on you, Michael! I was separated from you as well, you know! I went through the same loneliness you did and I never cheated on you! I never even wanted to!"  
He winced and tried to grab her by the elbow as she strode past him but she turned and slapped him straight across the face. He looked at her, cheek burning. Her eyes were spilling tears and she looked shocked at her own actions. She zipped up her luggage, threw a coat over her pyjamas and stormed out of the apartment.  
That was the last time he had seen her.

 

Michael hurled the glass of scotch against the concrete wall of the balcony and walked inside of the hotel room. He hated remembering that fight. Hated knowing that all the time he had spent trying to get her back was for nothing. He had called and visited her at her friend's house, then at her workplace until he recognised that he had basically become a stalker. He sent flowers, singing telegrams, everything and anything he could think of to win her back. And it wasn't until his own mother had told him that he had gotten exactly what was coming to him that he had stopped trying. He needed to let her have space and time to heal. He was the worst thing that could have happened to her, the best friend had stated once. Memorising lies came just as easily as remembering the lines of his scripts.  
His phone rang and he jumped slightly. It was her. He tentatively picked up the device and pressed 'answer'.  
"Hello?" He said quietly and held his breath.  
"Michael," her voice sang through the phone to him though her tone was short, clipped. "You rang?"  
"Yeah... I just- it's like three in the morning here and I was thinking about you..."  
There was silence on the other end of the line.  
"Darling, I miss you," he finally said, his voice coming out as a croak.  
"It's been over a year," she stated and he could almost see her grit her teeth and set her face in determination. "Why are you calling me? You don't have a plaything to keep you company?"  
"Please don't," he whispered. "I don't want to talk about that stuff."  
"Well, tough. I do. If you want to talk to me, this is the subject we're going to be speaking about."  
"Okay, darling. Okay," he agreed and leaned against the wall. "Talk then."  
"Where are you?"  
"New York."  
"No bimbo?"  
"She left already."  
He heard her spiteful laughter and winced, "I'm flying back to London tomorrow."  
"That's nice for you."  
"Can we meet up?"  
She paused for a minute and he heard the sharp inhale of breath before she answered. "I don't think that's a good idea."  
He nodded to himself, "I really miss you. I've been missing you since you walked out."  
"That was your decision when you cheated on me, Michael. You made that call the second you were unfaithful."  
"I was stupid and reckless. I got my first big break. My first international success and it went to my head. People knew who I was and I was drunk on the fame. It's not an excuse but it's all I've got. Darling, please. Just a cup of coffee."  
"I hate coffee."  
"Tea then. Just please meet with me."  
"And if I'm with someone else?"  
"Fuck that. I don't care. I'm not asking you to marry me, just meet with me and let me make this right. I can't stand not having you in my life."  
"Right."  
He heard the rustle of movement and the whistling of a kettle. He smiled to himself.  
"Taking the day off of work?"  
"It's Sunday, Michael. How drunk are you?"  
He frowned, "Not very. Please. Meet with me. I haven't bothered you in months. Not a text, not a call, nothing. Please?"  
"No, Michael. It's too late. You lost any privilege to be in contact with me. Go and call one of your many flings. I'm sure they'll want to have coffee with you. Don't call me again."  
"But, darling--"  
"Michael, just because you're a big shot in the film industry doesn't mean that you can have whatever you want. You say you were drunk on the fame? You're addicted to the lifestyle. One day you'll wake up and realise that you may have all the fame and money in the world, but your life will be empty without something real and constant."  
"You were that! You were real and constant. You were my anchor, darling. I need that back." He pleaded.  
"Please just leave me alone."  
She disconnected the call before he could respond. He looked at the phone incredulously.  
"But I love you," he said to the empty room and sank to the floor. "More than anything."  
He didn't know how long he sat there for. He stared at the phone, his tears finally escaping what she had called his cold eyes and staining his cheeks. The early morning sun peeked through the half open curtains and he dimly became aware of the insistent knocking on the door.  
"Fassbender, let's go! PR circuit is happening today. Interview in three hours. Let's go!"  
He glanced at the door and then looked back at the silent phone. She was right. He had the lifestyle he had always dreamed of but it meant nothing without her. He was broken on the inside and when he had told his mother that, she has asked him what he thought his woman felt like. "Karma is a mean bastard, my boy. But it will always come to bite you in the arse. Just like lies. The truth will always come out."  
How right she was.


End file.
